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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585100">To Be Human</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/librata/pseuds/librata'>librata</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Fluff and Angst, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Jealous Erik, M/M, Protective Erik, Slow Burn, Stone Age, caveman erik</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:40:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/librata/pseuds/librata</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Xavier is a paleogeneticist and has been given the opportunity of a lifetime—to look after the Stone Age era human being that has recently been defrosted.</p><p>Yes, that's right. It's the Caveman AU that no one wanted.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Anya and Max</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Blame <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/midrashic/pseuds/midrashic">Midrashic</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame">flightinflame</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful">InsertSthMeaningful</a> for this disaster.</p><p>NOTE:<br/>I am not a scientist or anything close to a scientist. Please forgive my factual inaccuracies and in the spirit of fanfiction, handwave the details with me. </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Charles -</strong>
</p><p>The being’s arms were still curled. Its back, rippling with muscle underneath alabaster skin, arched like a parentheses, knees tucked toward a broad chest.</p><p>Charles imagined the ache the being would have if it did indeed open those eyes, but they dared not attempt to straighten the body out. Not yet.</p><p>He could not bear to tear his eyes away from the specimen on the table before him, even as an approaching mind interrupted his solitude.</p><p>“The child’s scans came back clean,” said Hank from behind Charles, voice muted as if he did not want to wake a sleeping person. “Perfect preservation. Like him.”</p><p><em>Him.</em> Because the specimen was not a mere thing; it was a him. A person. A human being. <em>Him.</em></p><p>“Trauma?” Charles asked, gaze still fixed.</p><p>“Minor contusions, but nothing more than that. Her dental development puts her at about five to six years old.”</p><p>
  <em>Her.</em>
</p><p>Charles still felt as if he might be dreaming, but the burn of the antiseptic scent in his nostrils was all the proof that he needed that he was, indeed, awake. Still, that did not quash the dreamlike quality of reality—Charles would never forget the way his stomach dropped when the lid of the cryogenic pod lifted, amidst a cloud of frigid humidity, to reveal two human beings who had been encased in ice nearly half a mile beneath the earth’s surface.</p><p>The isotopes from their perfectly preserved hair suggested that the two had lived about 12,000 years ago, straddling the cusp between the Upper Paleolithic and Holocene eras. A group of archeologists had been digging into Norwegian permafrost, and then, by pure accident, pulled the pair from their ancient resting place.</p><p>They’d arrived at the lab a week later, still swathed in the thick casing of ice in which they had been found. It had been difficult to see exactly <em>what</em> was suspended inside the icy prison, as the thick frost remained opaque, but as they slowly, carefully thawed the freeze, not a single one of them could reconcile what lay before their eyes.</p><p>A man and a young girl, wrapped in clothing of fur, wool, and leather, curled against each other. The man’s arms held the girl close, with his body wrapped around her in what looked to be a protective shield. His eyes were closed but his lips were slightly parted—in another context, he would look like any other sleeping man. The girl had been nestled into the man’s chest, her forehead tucked against his breastbone. Her matted hair was dark, but the man’s, which fell toward the middle of his back was light, almost red underneath the fluorescent bulbs of the laboratory.</p><p>12,000 years ago, the man and the girl had huddled together, perhaps for warmth, perhaps for comfort, and then the cruel elements had preserved their existence into the earth for millennia.</p><p>It had been Hank’s heightened sonic sense that detected life, though. As Charles, Moira, and Azazel pored over the man’s anatomy, Hank nearly choked himself before he found the ability to stammer out that he could hear a faint heartbeat.</p><p>Immediately, medical doctors were whisked into the laboratory. The man and the girl were defibrillated, intubated, and injected full of concoctions that none of Charles’s three PhDs qualified him to understand. After several hours, it was determined that, to the astonishment of Science itself, both people were alive, and in stable condition.</p><p>It had been three days. They had placed the man and the child in separate observation rooms and spent sleepless nights cobbling together their proposed methodology. As biological anthropologists and paleogeneticists, Charles and his colleagues had always conducted their work based upon facetious scenarios just like this one; what would we ask a caveman if he were alive today? It had been the standard in their field for as long as it had been around, but no one had bothered to formulate a plan of action if this were to actually come to fruition.</p><p>So they had facilities under construction, studies being built. The media, it was decided, would remain uninvolved for the time being, but the international organizations were all negotiating.</p><p>Technically, the specimens belonged to the Norwegian government, but they had agreed to send them to the Shaw Laboratory for study. What would happen to the man and the girl in the future still remained to be seen, but for the moment, they remained under the custody of Sebastian Shaw and his team.</p><p>____________________________________________</p><p>
  <strong>- Charles -</strong>
</p><p>They were a father and a daughter.</p><p>Charles stared at the data tables on his computer screen, tables which confirmed a strong patrilineal DNA connection between the man and the girl.</p><p>He supposed that it shouldn’t be such a shock—the way the man held her in a protective curl did indeed align with strong paternal instinctual behavior, but there was something so recognizable about it all that it made Charles feel uneasy.</p><p>Of course, he knew that human beings, at their very core, were programmed to be familial. To see it in its perfect embodiment was breathtaking.</p><p>____________________________________________</p><p>
  <strong>- Charles -</strong>
</p><p>“What should we call them?” Moira sank down into the seat beside Charles’s wheelchair and slipped him a steaming mug of tea.</p><p>It had been days, perhaps even weeks, since Charles had left the lab, so he accepted the tea graciously. “Call them?”</p><p>“We have Lucy, Simon, Eurydice…” Moira nodded. “They should have names. Even unofficial ones.”</p><p>Charles examined the man. He had a tawny beard covering his jaw, a deep contrast to his pale skin. He had angular bones and an elegance to his face, far more refined than the common expectation of a broad, ape-like being. He looked like a human being.</p><p>“Max?” Charles suggested.</p><p>Moira smiled. “Max, and his daughter Anya.”</p><p>A chill ran down Charles’s spine, but he nodded. “Anya and Max.”</p><p>____________________________________________</p><p>
  <strong>- Charles -</strong>
</p><p>“Charles! Charles—”</p><p>Vigorous shaking pulled Charles from his fitful sleep, head still on his desk from where he’d keeled over from sheer exhaustion several hours before. Through his delirium, he could feel the heightened alert of Hank’s mind.</p><p>“Charles, he’s waking up.”</p><p>Instantly, the weight of exhaustion lifted, and Charles bolted upright. He scanned the grouping of minds in the near vicinity as a silent headcount; Hank’s whirring brain, Moira’s breezy organization, Azazel’s deep skepticism, and Shaw’s…enigma. Indeed, however, another beacon shone among them all, like a lantern slowly burning oil in a thick night.</p><p>“I can hear him.” Before he could elaborate, Charles was wheeling from his office and into the observation room. Moira, Azazel, and Shaw were already circled around the table, and the monitors displaying the man’s, <em>Max’s</em>, vitals. His heart rate was still slow but stable, oxygen saturation levels were normal, body temperature a steady 97.2º F.</p><p>It was his brain activity, however, that had the five scientists on bated breath. Where the monitor had displayed a steady, minimal line thus far, it was now showing peaks and valleys, expectedly erratic.</p><p>“What do you hear?” Shaw demanded of Charles upon noting his strained expression. “Is he thinking?”</p><p>“He’s dreaming,” Charles answered as he pressed his fingertips to his temple, eyes shutting. “Not coherently…I can’t piece a narrative together—”</p><p>“What do you hear?” Shaw pressed again, tone sharper.</p><p>Charles pursed his lips and extended his telepathy deeper into Max’s mind. It was still slow and rickety, cloudy as if a thick layer of dust coated each synapse. He channeled his ability sonically, allowing all other senses to pale and bring focus to all that he could hear.</p><p>“He’s…he’s hearing something in his dream,” Charles reported. “Crunching. Like snow underfoot.”</p><p>“Norway,” Moira agreed, and Charles could feel her comforting hand on his shoulder. She knew how hard he was pressing. “Anything else?”</p><p>Charles waded further into the dark corridors of Max’s still frigid brain, and stopped cold when something that could only be a child’s voice rang through his ears.</p><p>
  <em>”Atta! Atta!”</em>
</p><p>It was high-pitched but soft, like that of a young girl. Its tone carried stress.</p><p>And then, with no forewarning, a visual world exploded across Charles’s perception. Snowfall so thick that he could scarcely see more than a foot in front of him. An arm, covered with a thick pelt, extending outward to reveal a pale, bare hand. Tiny fingers emerging from the blizzard to take hold of the sleeve. A face. Porcelain skin, dark eyes, rosy lips.</p><p>Anya.</p><p>
  <em>”Atta!”</em>
</p><p>“Charles!”</p><p>A violent jolt ripped him from Max’s dream, and now, he was back in the lab. Before he could even catch his breath, a hand was pressing a tissue to his face while another one pinched the bridge of his nose.</p><p>His head began to throb.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Moira asked as she knelt before him, apprehension coloring her features. “What happened?”</p><p>“I’m fine.” Charles gently swatted Hank’s hands away from his face so that he could treat his own bloody nose. The ache in his skull felt something akin to a brick being tossed against his cranium, but he was far too invigorated to properly care. “He’s dreaming about the girl.”</p><p>All eyes flocked back to Max on the table, whose face had begun to twitch ever so slightly. Beneath the wild beard, his lips pressed together, as did his eyelids. His limbs inched as well, slowly unfurling from their curled stasis.</p><p>The scientists dared not move.</p><p>And then, as if struck with an electric current, Max’s eyes popped open and bored directly into Charles’s own.</p><p>They were light and cool, grey streaked with icy blues and muted greens. His deep pupils contracted swiftly under the powerful light--a positive sign for viability—but remained locked with Charles’s. Charles could not move, speak, or even breathe as he stared into the ancient man’s eyes, hypnotized, until—</p><p>“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”</p><p>Like a tiger, Max opened his mouth and let out a defiant roar, tearing from the table as if it was on fire. The monitors all flatlined as he pulled himself free, but as his bare foot touched the cool tile floor, he crumpled into a heap at the base of Charles’s wheelchair.</p><p>Hank and Azazel sprang into action then, each gripping Max’s arms as the man flailed and yelled. Large as Max was at six feet tall, his unused muscles were no match for the two of them.</p><p>“Tie him down!” Shaw commanded over Max’s relentless scream. “Get him back up and tie him down!”</p><p>Charles zipped toward the table and pulled a lever underneath. A set of metal wrist and ankle cuffs rotated to the surface, which were promptly secured over Max’s body.</p><p>He thrashed weakly against his restraints, bearing his teeth at their white-coated quintet, and Charles didn’t need to dig even a centimeter past the surface of his mind to understand what he felt: Fear.</p><p>“Shh,” Charles cooed, even though he knew that their modern modes of calming would be useless toward a prehistoric man. Tentatively, he extended an arm outward to wrap fingers around Max’s shoulder. Behind him, Hank scrambled to prepare a syringe of sedative while Azazel, Moira, and Shaw remained fixated on the struggling man. “Max. It’s alright,” he promised, encouraged when the man made fixed eye contact once again.</p><p><em>Those eyes.</em> They knew a world which Charles could only grasp at vaguely, woven together through bone fragments, fossilized knives, rotten clay pots. They knew this world in all its vividness and depth, a full, complex society lost to time. History books could only speculate so much, outlining behaviors and customs and dietary patterns gleaned from the scraps of relics yanked from the earth.</p><p>Prior to today, to this very moment, Charles had been confident that he had a fairly robust idea of this world in his head. Max’s eyes, so storied, had disavowed this belief immediately. He knew nothing. Nothing at all.</p><p>Underneath his touch, Max finally stilled, eye contact unwavering. His chest heaved with breath and his teeth remained bared, but he no longer fought against the metal cuffs.</p><p>Cautiously, Charles smiled. “See? It’s alright, Max. You’re okay. It’s all okay.”</p><p>A heavy tension hung in the air, staccatoed only by Max’s breathing. Charles could not tear away from the man’s gaze, leaning closer and closer as if drawn in by magnetism.</p><p>
  <em>Snap.</em>
</p><p>Charles was on the floor. His wheelchair had flipped to its side and dumped him out, and as he rolled to his back in stunned disbelief, a gasp pushed from his lungs.</p><p>Suspended in the air was a series of objects; scalpels, microscopes, even laden countertops, all pushed from the ground of their own accord. From where he lay on the ground, Charles could see that the cuffs around Max’s wrist and ankles had been pried open, and a light-skinned hand rose with flexed fingers.</p><p>More objects joined those in the air—pens, stools, the sink in the corner—until the entire space was filled with a floating collection of their own things. As Max’s fingers jerked, the floating matter followed suit, and Charles could scarcely speak for his own incredulity.</p><p>“It’s Max,” he all but screeched to his dumbstruck companions. “He’s doing this. He’s controlling this all.”</p><p>Before Max could move another inch, Hank sprang toward the table to plunge his syringe into Max’s neck. The man let out another pained roar, and, terrifyingly, the floating pieces all shot upward a foot, suspended in wait for several seconds.</p><p>“Cover your head!” Moira screamed, and in the next moment, a storm of metal objects cascaded toward the floor like a downpour.</p><p>Charles threw his arms over his face a mere second before something cold and heavy landed atop his body.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Strangers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Erik wakes up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for all the lovely comments! A note about their language.....</p><p>I'm making Erik speak a dialect of Proto-Indo-European. I'm making this dialect up and using an Indo-European dictionary online. Handwave this again for me, if you will. </p><p>Thank you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Charles -</strong>
</p><p>They had traced the presence of mutant DNA through many centuries. The Industrial Revolution, the Enlightenment, the Dark Ages. The rise and fall of the Mongol Empire, the conquest of Punjab, the Norman invasion. There was mutant DNA in Celtic Ireland, Mayan Guatemala, Babylonian Iraq.</p><p>So, it shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was that this 12,000-year-old man had a strong, distinct X-Gene mutation on his 12th chromosome.</p><p><em>The oldest mutant ever discovered,</em> Shaw had said as he hovered over Charles’s shoulder and surveyed his computer. <em>This is astronomical.</em></p><p>Shaw wasn’t wrong—Max was astronomical for a number of reasons, but this took the entire project to a whole new tier. Not only did they have a living, breathing human being from the Stone Age, but someone who possessed a mutation that had yet to be charted in another person throughout all of human history.</p><p>Arm sore from the weight of the centrifuge that had fallen atop him, Charles gingerly wheeled himself to the thick glass partitioning himself and Anya, who lay on a table in her own room. Even with the thick mane of matted hair, she looked remarkably unremarkable—pale skin, rosy lips, a sloped nose that, now that he looked closer, was a miniature version of her father’s. Hank was in the process of resequencing her DNA samples to look for markers of mutation as well, but, even if she did possess a gift, they would only know what it entailed if she awoke, too.</p><p>“You should go home, Xavier.” Azazel’s heavy accent spoke after a loud <em>crack</em> interrupted his silence. Charles did not move his head, but he could see the man’s fiery skin from the corner of his eye. “You need rest. You look as if you’re going to fall straight over.”</p><p>Charles knew that Azazel was right, as he hadn’t gotten more than a few stolen hours of sleep at his desk in over a week, but how was he supposed to go home <em>right now?</em> Max was alive and vital and a mutant who could control metal, Charles couldn’t bear to be anywhere but here. “I’ll go lay on the couch in the lounge,” Charles conceded.</p><p>“For ten minutes, and then McCoy will run in to tell you he’s found something useless, but you will get up and spend hours looking into it anyway.” Charles frowned and finally turned to look at Azazel, who looked directly at Charles with a black eyebrow cocked. “MacTaggert has gone home and so has the boss. McCoy and I can babysit until you’re human again.”</p><p>Shoulders slumping, Charles scrubbed a hand across his face because damn it, he really was <em>exhausted</em> and the more he thought about it, the more alluring a solid eight hours in his own bed sounded. “You come get me if anything at all happens, alright?” he conditioned, cocking a brow right back at Azazel. “I’m giving you permission to teleport directly into my bedroom.”</p><p>“A privilege I’ll covet. Is that a standing offer?” teased the Russian, and then set his hands on Charles’s shoulders.</p><p>There was another loud <em>crack</em>, a brief but horrific spinning sensation, and then yet another <em>crack</em>. When Charles opened his eyes, he was sitting before the entryway of his estate. It was dark out, but Azazel’s bright skin stood out against the blackness.</p><p>“Sleep,” he ordered. “I will retrieve you if something occurs.” Before Charles could answer, or even thank Azazel for taking him home, the man was gone in a cloud of smoke.</p><p>Soon after, Charles was fast asleep in his bed, dreaming of blizzards and flying metal and grey-blue eyes.</p><p>____________________________________________</p><p>
  <strong>- Erik -</strong>
</p><p>He hurt.</p><p>Whenever he tried to move, Erik’s bones gave ache, as if he had let the fire turn to ash and fallen asleep for too long in the middle of the Harsh Days. Even the smallest twitch of a finger or toe sent a cold jet of pain along his limbs, rendering it difficult to do much more than lie there on the frigid rock.</p><p>He was scarcely awake, in that space where he and the Gods and spirits of the lost often communicated. His eyes could see the dwelling around him, full of very strange items and objects and many tiny fires contained within. More than that, Erik could <em>feel</em> the dwelling around him in the same way he felt the earth within rocks and mines, only now he felt it much stronger. Nearly every object, from the rock he rested on to the fire-containers hanging from the top of the dwelling had the material he could feel.</p><p>From somewhere nearby, two voices speaking an unknown language convened. The hair of his arms stood on end—he was uncovered on this strange rock, and the foreigners would certainly know that he was here. Perhaps they were the same bald-faced strangers he had seen before, the ones wearing furs so white that they hurt his eyes. One of the foreigners had long limbs and ice over his eyes, another was a red serpent with legs. There was a woman and another bald-faced man among them, but Erik had seen the last one most clearly.</p><p>He had remained seated on some elaborate formation of sticks and rounded rocks, all of which Erik could feel with his extra sense. He had light eyes like those of the northern clans and no beard, with silken hair which just touched his shoulders. His face was smooth and he wore the white furs like the others, but when he spoke, Erik recalled an air of authority. Perhaps this man was the leader of the clan.</p><p>A sharp noise like that of a bird Erik had never heard before rang out somewhere as he became more in tune with his senses, but when he tried to move his limbs, rough vines held them down to the rock. He grunted as he struggled against the vines, and the voices grew louder.</p><p>”Eez uhwaik!”</p><p>”Ai vil git ze uhzers.”</p><p>There was the sound of a tree branch snapping near the voices, but when Erik turned his head to eye the foreigners, he could only see the long-limbed one rushing toward him.</p><p>”Mahks,” Long Limb said, using that same word the clan leader had used when he placed his hand upon his body. “Mahks, itz ohlreyte. Yoo kahnt yooz yore myutashen, buht doo nott pahnik.”</p><p>Erik growled up at Long Limb as his eyes grew into focus, and then flexed his fingers to pull some of the strange objects from their caverns. If he could drop some of these things on top of Long Limb, he might be able to gain enough time to free himself of these vines and escape this terrifying dwelling of this unknown clan.</p><p>Nothing moved. The giant shiny lump with the flashing fires or tiny stars remained where it was, unresponsive to Erik’s command.</p><p>“Mahks—”</p><p>Erik roared again, thrashing with all of his might against the vines, which were thick, flat, and course with some sort of sticky substance holding each end together. It was then that he realized that there was something heavy around his neck, like that of a chieftain's ornamental collar, pulsing with yet another tiny fire. He wore the collar and a thin garment of the strangest pelt he ever did feel, so light and sparse that he could hardly feel it at all.</p><p>“Nōmn̥ kʷoues, <em>(Who are you)</em>,” Erik demanded of Long Limb, bearing his teeth up at the bald-faced man with ice over his eyes. “Kʷod wei eberd? <em>(What clan are you?)</em>”</p><p>Long Limb merely stared with wide eyes behind those panes of ice, lips slightly ajar. Erik couldn’t help but think how odd it was that each member of this clan wore their faces bare and hair cropped. Were they hoping to look like children?</p><p>Before Long Limb could answer, another tree branch snapped and suddenly, the other strangers from before hovered over him, joining Long Limb in a frightening collection of faces. All were so strikingly similar in appearance save for the Red Serpent—light skin, smoothed hair, bare chins around full sets of teeth. Their garments were all of the same light pelt with such little weight to it, acting as nothing more than a cover for their bodies. Their dwelling was full of so many foreign objects that looked to be out of dreams, and Erik wondered if he had been taken by the Spirits to their land, as there was no place he had ever been before with so much smoothness and shine.</p><p>“Nōmn̥ kʷoues,” he demanded again, pulling against his vines. “Kʷo do dei? <em>(What is this place?)</em>”</p><p>“Yuu sehd Muhnrow iz on ‘er wae?” spat the dark-haired man with the pointed nose, an unpleasant scowl directed toward the one seated atop that same stick formation.</p><p>“Yehz, buht maebee ai ken trai ahnd cuhmyoonikait whith ‘im,” said Seated One, and then turned his eyes toward Erik’s own like he had earlier.</p><p>Erik scanned those eyes for any sign of threat or danger, but he couldn’t determine what Seated One’s intentions were. To be safe, he bared his teeth, trying and failing once more to harness the objects in the room with his extra sense.</p><p>Undeterred, Seated One tapped on his own chest. “Egg Tcharrels.”</p><p>“Wuht dihd yoo sae?” Pointed Nose sneered at Seated One, but the lone woman in the group answered for him.</p><p>“Ai theenk Tcharrels iz traiying Prohtow-Ihndow-Yurrohpeeinn.”</p><p>Seated One moved his head without breaking eye contact, and repeated his phrase. “Egg Tcharruhls.”</p><p>Erik realized that Seated One was trying to speak with him, tell him something, but they did not share the same tongue. Egg Tcharruhls? What was Seated One trying to say?</p><p>Repeating the same tap on his cloth-covered chest, Seated One scrunched his lips together for a moment before speaking again. “Eenom Tcharruhls...uh, nomin Tcharruhls?”</p><p>Oh. Seated One was trying to communicate his name, Erik understood. He spoke with a strange, smooth accent full of the oddest sounds Erik had ever heard, but the repeated tapping on his chest gave just the right clues.</p><p>Tcharruhls. Seated One was called Tcharruhls.</p><p>“Tcharruhls,” Erik repeated, and the five strangers all gasped at the same time, as if Erik had announced that there was a bear behind them. A quick glance confirmed that there was no bear, just their sparkling dwelling full of its foreign objects.</p><p>“Tcharruhls!” Tcharruhls said with a grin, moving his head much quicker now. “Nōmn̥ Tcharruhls! And—er….tu nōmn̥ Mahks.”</p><p>Erik studied Tcharruhls’s face, still perplexed by its smoothness and hygiene, but grunted. “Nei,” he denied. Perhaps the strangers were looking for a man called Mahks, and when they discovered that he wasn’t Mahks, they would let him free of this frightening place. “Eĝhom me Mahks. <em>(I’m not Max.)</em>”</p><p>Tcharruhls tilted his head, clean hands gripping at the edge of his flat rock. “Nei Mahks?”</p><p>Erik was growing bored of Tcharruhls’s poor communication, but gave an affirming grunt. “Eĝhom Erik. <em>(I’m Erik.)</em>"</p><p>“Ai theenk hee juhst sehd hiz naym iz Erik!” Tcharruhls told his companions in his own tongue, and they all gasped again. Still, no bear.</p><p>“Erik?” said The Woman.</p><p>“Edick?” said The Serpent.</p><p>“Airick?” said Long Limb.</p><p>“Errik?” said Pointed Nose.</p><p>“Yai! <em>(Yes!)</em>” Erik roared, and the strangers all jumped backward several paces, as if afraid. “Eĝhom Erik, me Mahks! Ledō me anor, egō mudstos wermi dhugtēr! <em>(I’m Erik, not Max! Let me go now, I must go to find my daughter!)</em>”</p><p>His pleas, however, fell on ears that did not want to listen, as the strangers began to talk quickly amongst each other in their own tongue. Not even Tcharruhls, who could speak a few words of his language, seemed to understand him, or if he did, it did not seem to matter to him.</p><p>His daughter.</p><p>While his memory was still cloaked in some sort of mystic fog, he could begin to piece together the final moments before all went dark. It was the Harsh Days and one of the Gods had been angry, as they had cast a horrific storm across their land. Erik had returned to his dwelling to find it collapsed, Nina shivering amongst the trees despite her furs.</p><p><em> “Atta!”</em> she had said. <em>”Erno says the storm is very bad!”</em> Erno, of course, was the rabbit that his daughter had taken a liking to, using her strange gift to communicate with animals wherever they travelled. Typically, Erik did not pay much attention to the conversations betwixt Nina and her beastly companions, but Erno seemed to be speaking truth this time.</p><p><em> ”We will find shelter on the far side of the forest,”</em> Erik had said, and reached for Nina’s cool hand at once. <em>”We must hurry if we shall get there before moonrise.” </em></p><p><em> ”What about Erno?</em>” Nina had cried, pulling defiantly at Erik’s hand. <em>”And Klurå? And Plōvin??” </em></p><p><em> ”They must protect their own little girls tonight, Nina,”</em> Erik had told her before slinging her across his back. <em>”And you will meet new friends. We must go."</em></p><p>Erik couldn’t remember much more after that, save for rushing through the thrashing storm and into the cold. Realizing that the moonrise would come sooner than he’d hoped, that they would have no light to find their way to the protected caverns on the far side of the forest.</p><p>Falling to his knees when his frigid muscles could go no further, sheltering Nina with his body before everything fell to blackness.</p><p>“Nina!” Erik bellowed as powerfully as he could muster, and the strangers ceased their babbling to look at him once more. “Mi dhugtēr! Jodhei Nina! <em>(My daughter! Where is Nina!)</em>"</p><p>The strangers looked at each other once more, speaking quietly. “Ee meyet bee ahsking uhbowt thuh guhrl,” Tcharruhls said to Pointed Nose, who lowered his thin eyebrows.</p><p>“Eym noht wuhrreed uhbowt thuh gurl,” Pointed Nose said. “Tehl hihm thaht sheez dehd iff yoo haf too.”</p><p>“Aim noht a leengwist. Wee wihll haf too wayt for Uhrorro,” Tcharruhls replied, which made Pointed Nose emit a sound of annoyance. “Ai wihl trai too diztrahckt hihm, thow.”</p><p>Perhaps Tcharruhlls did not know enough of his tongue to understand what he demanded. Perhaps Nina had wandered off on her own in search of warmer shelter than that of his freezing body, and was waiting for him amongst a new clan of animals in the caverns. He didn’t trust any of these foreigners with their otherworldly clothes and dwelling, but he also wasn’t a dumb man. It was growing apparent that he would not be able to force his way out of their dwelling without their compliance.</p><p>“Egg Tcharruhls,” Tcharruhls repeated, tapping his chest once more. He then placed his hand on The Woman’s shoulder. “Moyruh. Moooyyyruh.”</p><p>Tcharruhls looked at Erik curiously, and Erik suppressed a dissatisfied grunt. “Moyruh,” he echoed, to the delight of Tcharruhls and the woman called Moyruh.</p><p>Tcharruhls pointed at the The Serpent. “Uhzayzell. Uh-zay-zell.”</p><p>“Uhzayzell.”</p><p>“Yehs! Vehree guhd, Erik!” He then moved his hand towar Long Limb. “Haynck. Hayynckkk.”</p><p>“Haynck.”</p><p>And finally, he indicated Pointed Nose. “Tshawh. Tshaaawh.”</p><p>Erik looked toward Pointed Nose, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “Tshawh,” he said, and the man’s lips curled menacingly.<br/>“Errick thuh tawkeeng Kroh Mahgnun,” Tshawh lilted in his strange tongue. “Myootint Kroh Mahgnun, aht that. Thihs, mai frehnds, whill geht thihs lahbruhtorrie a Nowbehl.”</p><p>All five of the strangers seemed to enjoy whatever Tshawh said, as they grinned and began to talk giddily amongst themselves, leaving Erik alone and tied to his rock for a long while. As they spoke, Erik concluded that whoever these people were, they possessed incredible wealth and power, as no one he had ever come across would ever be able to have such riches as this. Perhaps if the strangers liked him well enough, they would gift him a small amount of these resources, enough to where he could build a sturdier dwelling for himself and Nina out of his sculpting material.</p><p>As he took in his surroundings, the strangers’ voices began to grow louder, angrier. When he looked over, he could see that Tshawh and Tcharruhls were glaring at each other, poised for a fight. Vaguely, Erik wondered if Tcharruhls would stand from his seat of sticks to face Tshawh—his arms and chest were broader than those of Tshawh, although Tshawh looked to be taller overall. It would be a fair fight if Tcharruhls did stand, but instead, they continued to speak loudly at each other.</p><p>“Ai wihll nawt taik hihm hohm, Tshawh! Hee beelohngs in uh lahb, hee izint uh peht!” Tcharruhls hissed.</p><p>“Hee iz a hyoomin beying, Tcharruhls. A myootint, too. Thuh ohnlee wae too geht uh fuhl, rohbuhst uhnderrstahndeeng iz too uhbzervv hihm ihn acktchin.”</p><p>The two strangers argued for a while longer, and Erik was starting to think that they would never begin to actually fight when they finally stopped speaking. Tcharruhls looked displeased and Tshawh looked smug, so it seemed that a conclusion was reached without a fight. This clan was getting stranger and stranger.</p><p>And then, before Erik could jerk away, Haynck plunged another one of his pathetic, thin knives into Erik’s neck. He roared out in protest, but it was as if his consciousness was being tugged from the Spirit World, and he was unconscious once more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺  Please comment if you're enjoying this fic 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please feed the writer....comments give me life. &lt;3</p><p>(And also, meet other fans on our <a href="https://discord.gg/eA6BvrAx92">X-Men discord.</a>)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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